


An Odd Sort of Trust

by DoreyG



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, Slight AU that isn't really mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s an odd feeling, getting a blowjob while blindfolded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Odd Sort of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sensory deprivation square of my kink_bingo, using blindfolds (because everything else sort of terrifies me. I HAVE STRANGE FEARS, OKAY?) AU in that the second and third (and fourth, oh boy) films never happened - though that doesn't really come into play at all except for establishing that Norrington is still a commodore.

“Sparrow,” he huffs, the moment he feels deft fingers tie a tight knot at the back of his head, “what are you doing?”

When Jack speaks he can _hear_ the filthy grin – the curve of it, the heat of it, the many implications all contained in one wide spread of entirely crooked teeth, “I thought that was obvious, mate.”

“I am _not_ your ‘mate’,” he snaps as firmly as he can, for he may not be able to see that _grin_ (already established as filthy, yes) but he still feels the aftermath of it prickling all over his skin, “or your friend or even your cordial acquaintance who you’d pass a few hours on shore with.”

That only gets him a chuckle, which is somehow even worse than the grin, and a cheeky pluck at the knot – one that has him shooting bolt upright, “whatever, _mate_.”

“You really are one of the most obnoxious men that I’ve ever met,” he huffs, relaxing down into his chair again.

“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow!”

“And my point is proven.”

For that explains _everything_.

…Everything.

Why Jack _is_ so very obnoxious, so very _infuriating_. His overinflated ego pumping him up into an absurdly caricatured fool who drifts across the oceans with a cocky strut that just _invites_ failure wherever he may go.

Why Jack has somehow managed to evade capture for this long, dart out of the seemingly inescapable net again and again with such disgusting ease. The impact of his name and the many myths around it opening every door for him with a smoothly oiled _swish_.

Why Jack is so enduring attractive to the opposite, and same, sex no matter how repulsive he is, how generally disgusting in a deeply offensive way. His name also opening legs for him: and bodices, and hearts, and… Trousers.

Why Jack is so attractive to _him_. Because he’s Captain Jack Sparrow and he’s been helplessly caught since he first let the man go.

“…Darlin’?”

“Mm?”

“You alright… Hostile aquaintancy man?” Fingers tap against the back of his neck, he’d say that they’re meant to be soothing but he’s never been into _that_ type of denial, “you went all silent and thoughtful and boringly serious there for a moment. I know it’s your usual state, and all that, but a man just has to worry when he’s in this sort of situation and his partner stops talking.”

He blinks, opens his eyes still to darkness, “I’m fine.”

“Now, me-“

“ _Fine_ ,” he repeats snappily, even as _lips_ replace fingers (he only shudders a bit, and that’s inevitable in Jack’s presence so he’s fully prepared to let it pass), “just waiting for answers.”

“Answers…?”

He finds that he can still arch his eyebrow, does so with a great deal of prejudice.

“Ah, _answers_ ,” Jack grins again, except this time against skin (oh, and _another_ shudder at that – he’s almost starting to grow disappointed with himself), “you should’ve just _asked_ , mate.”

“ _Sparrow_.”

“Alright, alright. Keep your hair on…” Jack chuckles, at least remembers to remove his lips before he does so (and so avoids turning him into a shaky puddle on the chair, something which is much appreciated through _yet more shuddering_ ), “or your wig, either way. This is a _blindfold_ , my dearest commodore.”

“Right-“

“Though you really should’ve known that, mate. Just saying.”

“ _Right_ ,” he repeats snappily yet again, turns to glare awkwardly over his shoulder at the heat of Jack – still hovering obligingly right there, “that’s all I wanted to know, Sparrow, and we could’ve had it out much earlier if you hadn’t dallied so much. You may now continue.”

“ _May_? That’s remarkably kind of you, sir…”

He grits his teeth, exerts quite a bit of effort in not _grinding_ them (even though Jack deserves the grinding, has always deserved the grinding, for being him and saying the word ‘ _sir_ ’ in such a way), “do you want to get laid or _not_ , Sparrow?

“Who says that I want to get laid at all?” The fingers return, taping merrily away just to the side of his wig, “Maybe I just want to temporarily blind you and steal all your treasure. Have you ever thought of that, my dearest commodore?”

Not specifically but many times with other such things. And yet, when he wakes up on the mornings after, everything is always still in place and Jack is often drooling on his chest. Comfortable and catlike, like he has no intention of doing anything wrong.

…A rare thing, yes.

But a thing that, oddly enough, he has an awful lot of faith in. And it’s that that gives him the courage to spin around in his chair. Awkwardly kneel up and grope down to where he just _knows_ Jack is hard and wanting and maybe, just maybe, as desperate as him under all the charm and wit and projected stupidity…

Or, actually, where Jack should be hard and wanting and desperate.

For the man, being himself, actually _steps back_ with a chuckle. And, with his sense of sight willingly tugged from him, he has no ability to follow and turn the situation back to his own terms. He can only continue awkwardly kneeling in his chair, holding on and swaying just slightly because he really _doesn’t_ feel stable and that-

…Is slightly scary.

Yes.

“…Git?” Jack asks after a while of swaying, and sounds oddly gentle about it too.

“Come back here,” he demands, perhaps a _touch_ petulantly (it’s rather unavoidable when you’re clinging onto the back of a chair for grim death), “you have an unfair advantage.”

“Do I?”

“You have your _eyes_.”

“Yeah, but you look good in that shade of black, my dearest git. I could be debilitated by lust and only able to drool on your nice carpet until the kraken comes to swallow me down.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he… Okay, whines a bit. And keeps holding on and swaying. And feels remarkably unsteady as he does so.

“You’ve heard many more ridiculous things, commodore, and most of them from me,” It should be worrying that he knows Jack well enough to know when the other man hesitates. It’s almost odd that it isn’t “…Look, if you truly ain’t comfortable then we’ll stop doing this, savvy? We’ll do something else instead: like paperwork, or discussing seagulls, or drinking rum!”

Is that a challenge-?

…No.

No, it most certainly isn’t. It’s an honest way out, an actual act of _kindness_ from Jack. If he wanted to back out now the other man would let him, would surely be disappointed but would vaguely hide it until he felt comfortable again, would actually be _nice_.

He considers how he feels. The tightness of the knot at the back of his head, the pinch at his slight wrinkles, the sheer _oddness_ of not having any sight to fall back on.

He considers, despite his often professed dislike, how it feels to step into new territory with Jack. How it feels to fall into his dizzying orbit and become a brief part of him.

He considers…

“I’m fine,” he repeats firmly, and awkwardly turns back around – dropping back into the chair with a certain lack of elegance that’d be embarrassing with any other person, “as long as you get back here fairly quickly, of course.” 

“So polite,” and Jack seems to understand his decision, judging by the way his voice is almost casual again and the fact that he’s sauntering _closer_ , “I can understand how you rose so far, mate. I bet all your P’s and Q’s sent everybody in the governor’s house into a whirl of melting.”

“You flatter me,” he says flatly, as sarcastically as possible as the warmth of Jack reaches his side, “I’ve never melted anybody and never intend to.”

“You’ve melted my heart.”

He _snorts_ … Becomes vaguely aware in the next moment that he’s not quite aware of Jack’s heat anymore, reaches out one hand probingly (and sharply, because faces are very important to a man like him), “indeed. Where-?”

And suddenly there are hands on his thighs, “here.”

…Oh.

_Oh_ , that is actually quite a nice sensation.

He reaches out his fingers tentatively, drops them when he realizes that he could just as easily poke Jack in the eye and render them both completely sightless, “and what exactly are you planning to do down there?”

…He’s rather surprised when Jack’s hands, unmistakable – he could know those lines in the middle of the most ferocious storm, come up anyway. Gently guide his fingers into tangled dreadlocks and don’t let go until he’s achieved some sort of grip, “how many things can a reasonably inventive, devilishly attractive man do on his knees, my gittish commodore!”

“Foot massages,” he replies instantly and stubbornly, even as he feels Jack’s hands return to their former position, “painting, fixing furniture, taking communion, paying respect to an august monarch...”

“ _Sexual_ things, Mr. Smug smartypantsy person.”

He huffs, tilts his head as much as he dares (and is pleased when Jack’s now slowly edging fingers tighten for a concerned second), “there are still _various_ options.”

“Oh,” Jack sounds surprised, or mock surprised (to be more accurate, considering how many times they’ve met now and that very informative week in Tortuga when he did not wear a single piece of cloth for the whole time), “you want a _clue_ , then. Right, gittish commodore pants, I shall provide this _clue_ for you: it involves my mouth.”

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, hopefully in less eager tones, “get on with it, then-“

“No _patience_. No wonder that you ain’t higher than a commodore yet, you speedy vagabond type,” and he would protest more, _honestly_ , but Jack is already arching up on his knees and fiddling with his hands and bringing his hot mouth _down_ -

And, well, it does seem better to focus on not thrusting too hard after that.

It’s an odd feeling, getting a blowjob while blindfolded. Usually you have the sights along with the sensations: Jack’s dark hair falling forwards and _then_ the tickle of it on his thighs, Jack’s head twisting and _then_ the almost unbearable spark of pleasure, Jack’s eyes twinkling and _then_ the blissful high of coming. But now…

Well, everything really is a surprise.

He almost falls backwards at the sudden hollow of Jack’s cheeks, instead allows his head to drop against the back of the chair and does not give a _shit_ about how hard it comes down.

He almost jumps right up (and out) at the unexpected touch of Jack’s fingers behind his balls, can only moan loud and hard and long and _tremble_ with how perfect the little rubbing movements are.

He almost _screams_ at the shock of Jack swallowing him down, but simply clenches his fingers in that wild hair and leans so far back that it’s a miracle he’s not on the floor…

On the floor…

Helpless, shaking, blissful…

Well, there’s a time for everything. 

As Jack swallows him down another time and he tips over the edge with a prolonged _moan_ … So blissful and boneless that he slides right off the chair, and forwards into the glorious warmth of Jack’s oddly welcoming arms.

… _Ah_.

Mm.

When he comes back to himself he’s pleased to find that Jack has immediately covered all soothing behaviour, is instead chuckling in his ear and lazily scratching his back – like the proper pirate he(‘s in love with) hates, “my turn, love?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Sparrow,” he grumbles in a generally dignified way, and emerges blinking into the sunlight.

The feeling of utter satedness is almost worth it.

(The charmed smirk on Jack’s face is even more so, as he ties his own knot and leans slowly in.)


End file.
